Dream Boy

Chapter 2

“Aisling…” Called the voice. I jumped. It sounded closer than it had last night. But then again, this was a dream, what did I have to worry about? I was back in the clique field of flowers, only this time, there was a full length mirror just standing in the middle of the field. I walked over to it, wondering if I had changed age again. The wooden frame around the mirror looked very old and had carvings delicately sculpted around the whole thing. One particular carving caught my eye.

My name, carved elegantly across the top of the frame. I stared at it for a moment, and then looked into the mirror. My 19 year old self stared back. I sighed, relived. I was wearing the same frilly dress and red cardigan as I had the night before, along with the black gum boots and although my face was still the same, my hair was short and wavy again. I tugged on it, irritated.

“Aisling.”

“Oh for crying out loud, what?” I complained, turning away from the mirror. There was no one there, of course, just the emptiness of the field. I frowned; this dream was so aggravating.

“Aisling… the door.” The voice whispered in an urging tone. I froze, and then looked up to the sky where the voice seemed to be coming from. The sky was pale pink and the clouds where a dark orange. The sun was setting. Strange… I hadn’t noticed a sun before. I ignored this fact; it seemed irrelevant and shouted to the sky, “What door? There’s no door here!” I paused, waiting, hoping for an answer. Of course, there came no reply. I groaned in frustration, looking back down at the ground. A wind picked up, making my dress and hair flutter.

The breeze was nice for a moment, but then became stronger and stronger until it pushed me into the mirror. Or at least, what used to be the mirror. The second my hand touched the wooden door, the wind stopped and the air seemed to be warmer. I stood up straight and pushed stray bits of hair out of my face. I glared at the door then back up at the sky.

“This door?” I asked sarcastically, wishing this ridiculous dream would just end. The air became warmer again and had a sweet smell to it, like fresh cut grass, which I took to be a yes.

“Fine, I’ll open the freaking door!” I yelled and turned to the door. The frame was the same one that had surrounded the mirror and the door itself had similar carvings. The handle itself seemed to be made of the remainders of the mirror. I could see the reflection of my hand as I reached out to it. I grabbed hold of the door handle and my entire body went cold. The sun and the sweet breeze disappeared and were replaced with darkness and a chill. I let go of the door handle in shock. The floor seemed to vanish from underneath me and I started to fall.

I landed with a muffled thud on my bedroom floor, my sweaty hand reaching out for my bedroom door handle. My heart was racing and my breathing was shallow. Had that really just been a dream? I’d never sleep walked before. I slowly and cautiously pulled myself up and the blanket that I’d somehow wrapped around myself fell to the floor. I stared at it, frowning, then stepped over it and out into the hall way, pointing myself in the direction of the kitchen. I needed coffee.

* * *

He picked up the heavy book from his desk and threw it against the wall. It knocked into a shelf full of little glass vials and the shelf shook violently. He swore loudly and ran towards the shelf, desperate to not let any of the tiny glass bottles fall. He made it in time, with only one of them falling. It bounced off his head and onto the floor without shattering. He sighed loudly and bent over to pick up the vial. A small crack had formed in the side, but other than that, it and its contents were safe.

Gingerly, he placed the vial back on the shelf, then retrieved his book. His name was written elegantly in faded silver script across the worn cover. He took the book back over to his work bench and opened it to the page he’d been looking at before he’d lost his temper. He didn’t understand why nothing he was doing was working. Was it his own fault? Or was it Aisling’s lack of faith that was slowly dissolving his chance of success? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he only had a few days left before he was out of time.

Slowly and sadly, he closed the book and stared down at the cover. The silver script was growing fainter and fainter by the day. Soon, his name would disappear from the cover all together. He said his name out loud, simply to remind himself that he was still here, he was still alive and that he wasn’t going to give up on Aisling. He repeated his name over and over until he drifted off into a state as close to sleep as he could accomplish.

“Thaces…”